Chapter 13 - Breathing Past The Chandelier
The doors closed behind us and the sound changed.
It didn't go quiet. It went thick, like someone had put a blanket over the ballroom. I could still hear them in there, shoes on marble and voices climbing over each other, and then a lower laugh that didn't sound happy. Mom's arm was tight around my shoulders and we kept walking because stopping that close felt like we were still inside.
My name is Lily. I was still wet.
That was the first thing I really felt again once we got out under the hallway lights. The air was cooler out there and my dress stuck to my legs when I moved. My hair dripped down my back. I could feel each breath hit Mom's navy dress and come back damp. In, out. In, out. Hers was steady under my cheek and mine tried to match it and couldn't quite.
She didn't let go of me to check. She just shifted her hold.
"Hey," she whispered. "I'm right here."
I nodded against her sleeve. The fabric smelled like her perfume and something else, sweat and heat from the room. My chest hurt from crying and my throat felt raw. I kept thinking about all those little white lights from the phones. I could still see them when I blinked.
Mom stopped near the wall where the sconces made a pool of light and no one could come up right behind us without us seeing. She crouched a little so we were eye to eye. Her dark hair had come loose around her face from running.
"Let me look at you," she said.
She put her hands on my arms first, light, then down to my wrists. Her fingers were warm. She checked my dress where it clung at the shoulders and waist, smoothing it away from my skin like she could make it less cold by doing that. Then she gathered my hair, all of it, heavy and wet, and squeezed the ends over to one side so the water wouldn't keep running down my front. A few drops hit the carpet. I shivered.
"I know, baby," she said. "I know."
Behind the wood doors, someone raised their voice. I couldn't make out words through the thickness, just the shape of it, a man's tone and then a ripple of other voices. Then a softer murmur that went on and on. Mom glanced back at the doors. I did too.
"They're still filming?" I asked. My voice sounded small.
Mom didn't lie to me. "Probably."
I pressed closer to her side. My breathing had started to slow out here, but hearing them made it catch again. I hated that I was still shaking. I wanted to be done shaking.
"Sorry," I said, before I could stop it.
Mom shook her head right away. "Don't." She cupped the back of my neck for a second, her thumb still. "You don't have to say that to me."
I swallowed. The hallway smelled like cleaning spray and warm wood. Somewhere down the corridor a door opened and closed, and ice clinked in a bucket. Normal sounds. They felt too far away.
Mom ran her hand once more over my wet hair, then down my back, checking the zipper and the damp bow at the back of my light blue dress like she needed to be sure nothing was torn. Her hands paused at my cold fingers. She wrapped both of mine in one of hers and rubbed.
"We need to get you dry," she said, more to herself than to me. "We can't go back in there like this."
I looked down at my shoes. Water had darkened the straps. "I'm cold."
"I know." She pulled me fully against her again, navy dress against my wet cheek. "Lean on me. I've got you."
The murmur behind the doors swelled again. I could hear heels clicking fast, then Eleanor's voice, sharp even through the wood, and then it cut off. Mom heard it too. Her jaw tightened. She didn't move toward the doors. She moved her body a little more between me and them.
May you like
I breathed in. Out. The navy fabric rose and fell under my face. In. Out. Slower this time.
I wasn't okay, but I wasn't drowning in the noise anymore. Mom was still here, and her hand was still holding mine, and for now that had to be enough to stand on.
